Page 94 of Frayed Bonds

Taking a small detour, I head to my papá's room. Karyn took the weekend off so it'll just be the two of us and I have to do all the usual checks she would do. He’s been feeling a lot more tired this last week so the doctors told him to take some time off from physical therapy and rest and they prescribed some medication to help his muscles relax if they get too tense.

As I peek into his room my body runs cold, somethings off about how he’s lying.

“Papá,” I whisper. No response, so I call a few more times knowing he can be quite a deep sleeper. Swinging the door open, panic erupts inside me. When I touch his arm it’s burning hot. I gently shake him trying to wake him up but nothing.

“Papá,” I cry, tears running down my cheeks, he’s barely breathing but I cling to the hope that he’s breathing nonetheless, and warm is good, warm is not cold and dead.

I stand up and pace around trying to think of what to do.

Phone. I need my phone.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper reassuring him. Sprinting up the stairs I grab my phone and rush down the stairs again into his room where he’s still lying unresponsive.

“It’s going to be okay, Papá, please don't leave me,” I cry again, struggling to dial the numbers for emergency services.

After what feels like an eternity of rings and dial tones, I get through to a human voice.

“Hi… I, uhm, I need an ambulance.” My voice cracks and a cry escapes my lips.

I rattle off what’s wrong to the lady on the other side of the call, as well as my address before hanging up and desperately clinging to my papá's hand.

“Papá, they’ll be right here I promise, please…” I choke. “Please don’t leave me,” I sink to my knees next to his bed.

I need help.

Without a second thought, I dial Ambrose's number, and he answers a lot faster than even the emergency services could.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” His voice is deep with sleep and immediately I feel horrible for calling, for waking him up again.

I didn't even check the time, I pull my phone away and the screen briefly lights up. 2 a.m. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I say through a choked sob. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Valerie, what’s going on, what’s wrong?” The panic rises in his tone as I hear shuffling.

“My-my papá… I-I came to check on him.” A cry breaks out in my throat. “Please can you come over? I need help.”

“I’ll be there soon,” he says and I can hear keys jingling as he rushes to the car.

“Did you call an ambulance?” he asks cooly, still on the call I’ve now placed on speaker next to the bed.

“Ye-yes. They said they'll get here as soon as possible,” I say trying to control my breathing.

Suddenly, my papá starts choking. “Ambrose.” I cry and immediately jump to my feet and try to turn my papá onto his side.

“Val, what’s going on?” Ambrose asks.

I’m barely able to lift the weight of my father enough to get him on his side in time before vomit streams out of his mouth and he continues to gag. Cries escape my lips as I try to hold him on his side and ensure all vomit comes out.

“H-he's vomiting, I-I can’t...I can’t turn h-him enough,” I barely get my words out while struggling to keep him on his side.

“Sweetheart, breathe I’m almost there. Is there another key for me to get in?” he asks.

I inhale deeply. “Under...under the roses on the front porch.”

I use my shirt to wipe my papá's mouth and panic looking at the colour of the vomit which is a disgusting shade of green. “Cazzo,” I cry.

I hear rustling at the door, and seconds later, Ambrose is calling out.

“I’m in here,” I yell and he's in the room seconds later. His eyes widen in horror as he takes in both of our states.

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